


You're Not the Boss of Me

by DeathBelle



Series: Seijoh, Inc. [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Background Ushiten, Biting, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Shirabu pining for Ushijima, Slapping, background matsuhana - Freeform, enemies to fuck buddies to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: This arrangement wasn't anything new for them.Shirabu and Semi both had anger issues. Aggressive sex was the best way to resolve those issues. It was mutually beneficial and there were no lasting consequences.At least, not until Shirabu makes the mistake of spending the night in Semi's bed.This is a SemiShira oneshot that goes along with Seijoh, Inc., but it can be read separately, as well.





	You're Not the Boss of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Never in my life did I think I would write SemiShira, but here we are. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you haven't finished Seijoh Inc., there may be spoilers. If you haven't read Executive Excursion and plan to do so, there are spoilers for it, as well.

Shirabu breathed a sigh, squinted at his computer screen, and mentally weighed the pros and cons of jumping off the roof.

Pro: He wouldn’t have to finish this report.

Pro: He wouldn’t have to get up for work tomorrow.

Pro: He would never have to hear Semi bitch at him again.

Con: It might not kill him.

He shook his head and tapped at the keyboard. It was nearly lunch time. He could pretend to work for the next half hour. After all, if he was going to leap from a high building, he didn’t want to do it on an empty stomach.

Con: He would miss lunch.

He continued moving his fingers across the keys just hard enough to make a productive tapping sound without actually typing. It was a method that he’d perfected at Dateko when his office had been adjacent to Semi’s. Back then, if Semi had heard a lapse in sound for more than five minutes he would take it upon himself to check on Shirabu’s progress. 

When they’d moved over to Seijoh, Shirabu had been somewhat relieved that Semi wouldn’t be his boss anymore.

Now Semi was a supervisor again, and the only positive thing that had come of the move was that there were three cubicles separating his and Semi’s. If he wanted to stare into the distance for a few minutes each day, usually no one stopped him. 

He would do that now, but he felt eyes on the back of his head that he pretended not to notice.

Pro: He wouldn’t have to deal with whatever problem was creeping up behind him.

“Shirabu-senpai?”

Shirabu ceased his thinly veiled efforts of working and sighed again. “What?”

He didn’t turn around, but Goshiki either didn’t notice or didn’t care about Shirabu’s obvious reluctance. He crept into the room, hunching over as if to make himself smaller.

Goshiki looked around, like he was searching for eavesdroppers. Then he crouched beside Shirabu’s chair and whispered, “Shirabu-senpai. I just heard something and I don’t think I should have.”

Shirabu had given up on correcting Goshiki’s preferred form of address a long time ago. A simple “–san” would have been appropriate. Shirabu had only worked at the company for a year longer than Goshiki, and he was barely any older. He didn’t know why Goshiki insisted on calling all of them senpai like they were still in high school.

“Then pretend you didn’t hear it,” said Shirabu. 

Goshiki’s eyes were wide. He clutched the arm of Shirabu’s chair and said, “But Shirabu-senpai, you don’t understand! I don’t understand, either. It’s just…”

He trailed off, nose scrunched as he searched for words. 

Shirabu stared blankly at him, mentally calculating how many minutes he had to deal with this before he would be rescued by the looming lunch hour.

“Ushijima-senpai just asked Tendou-senpai on a date!” Goshiki blurted. He slapped a hand over his mouth and looked at Shirabu with big eyes. 

Shirabu was unimpressed. “Did you doze off again?”

“No!”

“Then you misunderstood,” said Shirabu. He turned back to his computer. He would rather do actual work than deal with this. 

“But Shirabu-senpai,” said Goshiki, insistent. “I heard everything. Ushijima-senpai asked if Tendou-senpai wanted to go see a movie this weekend.”

Shirabu’s fingers stilled over his keyboard. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean it’s a date. Don’t be dramatic.”

“But then,” said Goshiki, “Ushijima-senpai said ‘ _As a date_.’ And Tendou-senpai said ‘ _yes_ ’.”

Shirabu turned his head, slowly, and narrowed his eyes at Goshiki. “That didn’t happen.”

“Yes it did! It was just twenty minutes ago! I swear!”

“Ushijima-san is not interested in _Tendou_ , of all people,” hissed Shirabu. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“But Shirabu-senpai-”

Goshiki bit down on his words as someone passed by the doorway of Shirabu’s cubicle. It was Tendou, humming to himself, arms swinging as he walked. He glanced at the two of them as he passed by, then slowly took a few shuffling steps backward to stand in the doorway. 

“Is this a secret meeting?” asked Tendou, his smile wide. “I’m crushed that I wasn’t invited. I love secrets.”

Goshiki stood out of his crouch and squirmed a little.

Shirabu said, flatly, “Did Ushijima-san ask you on a date?”

Tendou blinked at him, all expression falling from his face. Then his smile reemerged, twisting his mouth in a way that was almost unnatural. “Maybe so,” he answered, singsong. “Are you jealous?”

Shirabu’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he spat. “I just don’t know what _he_ would want with _you_.”

Tendou shrugged off the insult. “I’m charming, Shirabu-kun. It’s probably hard for you to recognize that since you’re as bitter as the black coffee you drink.”

“You’re not charming,” said Shirabu. “You’re fucking weird.”

Goshiki went stiff, eyes darting between the two.

Tendou leaned further inside the cubicle and leered at Shirabu. “No,” he said quietly, “I’m fucking Ushijima. Or I will be soon, I hope. I’ll let you know how he is, Shirabu-kun, since you’re so interested.”

Goshiki made a small choked noise. The heat of Shirabu’s glare doubled.

Tendou laughed and backed out of Shirabu’s cubicle. “I’m joking, of course,” he said. “I don’t kiss and tell. Too bad for you, Shi-ra-bu~.”

He gave a little wave of his fingers and walked away, humming contently.

Shirabu ground his teeth together. 

“Shirabu-senpai?” said Goshiki. He shuffled back, putting a bit more distance between them. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” snapped Shirabu. “Shouldn’t you be working or something?”

Goshiki scuttled out of the cubicle, throwing one quick glance over his shoulder.

Shirabu bit the inside of his cheek, clenched his fists in his lap, and again checked the time. Fifteen minutes. He only had to endure fifteen more minutes and he could escape for lunch. 

He thought about leaping from the roof again.

Pro: He would never have to think about Ushijima and Tendou fucking.

Pro: He would never have to think about Ushijima actually showing affection to someone.

Pro: He would never have to think about Ushijima being with someone that wasn’t him. 

“Hey, Shirabu, can you… What are you doing?”

Shirabu took a deep breath. He reminded himself that Semi was his boss again. He couldn’t be an absolute dick to him while he was on the clock. “I’m thinking,” he said through his teeth.

A shuffle of sound indicated that Semi had entered the cubicle. He leaned over Shirabu’s chair to look at his computer screen. “Thinking about what?” he said. “Those reports aren’t exactly rocket science.”

Shirabu clenched his fists a little more tightly and stared at the surface of his desk. If he looked at Semi he would only get angrier. “What do you want?”

“I need to see you in my office after lunch,” said Semi. If he noticed Shirabu’s debilitating frustration, he didn’t mention it. “First thing.”

“Fine.”

Semi gave him a look, but left without another word.

Pro: He wouldn’t have to deal with whatever bullshit Semi was about to drop on him.

Pro: He wouldn’t have to deal with Semi at all.

  
  
  
  
When Shirabu returned to the seventh floor after lunch, his mood had only slightly improved. He hadn’t been able to fully enjoy the free hour because he kept thinking about the inevitable meeting with Semi that would come after. When he managed to not think about that, he instead thought about Ushijima and Tendou, which was even worse.

Shirabu didn’t understand. It was possible that he was biased about the matter, but he couldn’t fathom how Tendou would be appealing to _anyone_ , much less Ushijima, who could have chosen whomever he wanted.

What Shirabu had learned from frequent office gossip was that Ushijima’s last known relationship had been with Oikawa Tooru. Shirabu wasn’t fond of Oikawa, but at least the two of them being together made sense to some degree. They both had prestigious positions in the company. Ushijima was strong and confident, while Oikawa was sly and beautiful. They would have made a perfect power couple.

It disgusted Shirabu to think of it, but not as much as it disgusted him to think of Ushijima and _Tendou_.

Oikawa made sense. He was superior to Shirabu in a number of ways.

Tendou, however, was not.

What did Ushijima see in Tendou that he couldn’t find in Shirabu?

By the time Shirabu stepped into Semi’s office, his hot anger had dulled into grudging frustration. He plopped into the spare seat in the corner of the cubicle without waiting for an invitation and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m here.”

Semi was unimpressed by his attitude. “Good to see you had a refreshing lunch.”

“Shut up.”

Semi frowned at him, probably in disapproval of Shirabu’s attitude. It wasn’t as if that was anything new. 

“Sorry,” said Shirabu, before Semi could start up his ‘I’m your boss’ lecture. “Shut up, _Semi-san_.”

Semi’s eye twitched and Shirabu felt a small stab of victory. 

If he was going to be miserable, then he wanted someone else to suffer with him.

Semi took a stack of papers off of his desk and tossed them into Shirabu’s lap. “These are the financial reports from last week. Yours is on top. Can you tell me what’s wrong with this picture?”

Shirabu didn’t even look at them. “I changed the format.”

“Why?”

“Because this way is better,” said Shirabu. “It’s easier to read and more comprehensive. It’s the same way we did them at Dateko.”

“I know that,” said Semi slowly. “We’re not at Dateko anymore. Fix it.”

“I don’t have to,” said Shirabu. “Iwaizumi already said it was fine to do it this way.”

Semi went still. His dark eyes burned into Shirabu like embers. “ _What_?”

Shirabu had to actively keep the bitter smile off of his face. “I spoke to Iwaizumi about altering the format and he said it was fine. He’s actually going to consider changing the template to make this the standard.”

Semi snatched the papers away from Shirabu and threw them back onto his desk. “You’re lying.”

“No,” said Shirabu, “I’m not. I understand your disbelief, though. If I recall, Iwaizumi didn’t like the idea when you were the one presenting it to him months ago. I suppose I’m more persuasive.”

Semi was clearly trying not to get angry, but the tic in his jaw said he was failing. “I’ll talk to Iwaizumi about it myself.”

“Please do,” said Shirabu. “Can I go now?”

“Fine.”

Shirabu felt a little as if he’d won something, and it helped keep his own resentment at bay for the remainder of the day.

He was doing just fine until shortly before five o’clock. Shirabu printed out the final copy of his daily report, stepped out of his cubicle to make the familiar trek to the printer, and almost walked directly into a broad, firm chest.

Shirabu stumbled a little before regaining his balance, eyes fixed on the crisp white collared shirt stretched over an impressive set of shoulders. Then his eyes moved upward and found Ushijima’s.

“Ushijima-san,” he said, taking an extra step back. “I apologize. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Ushijima shook his head. “No need to apologize,” he said. “I was lost among my own thoughts as well.”

Shirabu tried not to consider what sort of thoughts those had been.

“If you’ll excuse me, Shirabu,” he said, nodding as he stepped past.

Shirabu’s feet remained planted on the floor, as if they’d rooted there. He looked over his shoulder and watched Ushijima stop in Tendou’s doorway.

The anger from that morning had dulled and cooled into a low burn of displeasure. Now it flared again, burning beneath his skin, making his fingers shake with raging injustice.

It wasn’t fair. Shirabu was polite and personable and _normal_ , and Ushijima still preferred someone like Tendou.

Was Shirabu really that unappealing? Was there something _wrong_ with him?

Shirabu stomped to the printer and seized his reports, the paper crumpling in his grip. Matsukawa stood nearby, a late-afternoon mug of coffee in hand. He raised one thick eyebrow and said, inflectionless, “Rough day, Shirabu?”

Shirabu glared at him and turned on his heel. He stormed back toward his cubicle but then kept going, stomping past Goshiki’s and Tendou’s (he did _not_ look inside, did _not_ see Ushijima almost smiling) and Reon’s, and came to an angry, solid stop in Semi’s doorway.

Semi looked up, frowning as he took in Shirabu. “What?”

“Come over tonight,” said Shirabu, the words a low hiss. 

Semi’s eyebrows rose, skeptical. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” he snapped. “Are you coming or not?”

Semi frowned as he considered, studying Shirabu’s apparent frustration. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good. You owe me anyway.”

Semi scowled. “Whatever.”

Shirabu went back to his cubicle without another word, and this time he really didn’t peek into Tendou’s. He didn’t have to. The rumble of Ushijima’s voice was a clear indicator that he was still there.

Shirabu threw his report onto his desk, kicked his chair with too much force, and again checked the time.

It seemed, lately, that he was always just waiting for time to pass.

It felt like he was wasting his life away like that. 

But really, he was wasting his life away anyway.

  
  
  
  
An hour later Shirabu was on his back, being driven into his mattress by Semi’s deceptively heavy weight.

“ _Fuck_.” The word slid through gritted teeth as Semi rammed into him. It burned; Shirabu had been a little too careless with his prep. The touch of pain was good, though. It grounded him, made him latch onto the present. 

Semi slammed in again, and Shirabu bit down on a yelp. 

“Too much?” asked Semi, his voice rough. “You said you wanted it hard.”

“Shut up,” snapped Shirabu. He dug his nails into Semi’s shoulders. 

“You look like it hurts,” said Semi. He pulled out. “Are you sure you-”

“Shut up and fuck me.” Shirabu raked his nails down Semi’s back, hard.

Semi growled and thrust back in, the force of it shoving Shirabu a few centimeters closer to the wall. 

Shirabu clenched his jaw and swallowed back a cry. Semi’s hand was tight on his hip, holding Shirabu still as he fucked into him. 

“Like that,” said Shirabu, the words choked, as Semi struck him at the right angle. “Just like that.”

Semi shifted his weight, braced himself with a hand against the mattress, and did as he was told. 

Shirabu threw his head back and moaned, eyes closed. He released his death grip on Semi’s shoulders to clutch at the sheets.

This arrangement wasn’t anything new for them. It had been a periodic pastime over the past couple of years, though the frequency had increased with the move to Seijoh. They only hooked up when one of them needed to vent some frustration, and when Semi had struggled with Iwaizumi, he’d had a lot of frustration to vent. The need had been less pressing over the past few months, but Shirabu had a feeling that it was about to happen more often if Ushijima and Tendou started to date.

Getting fucked into oblivion by anyone – even Semi – was preferable to sitting around and thinking about Ushijima doing the same to Tendou.

Shirabu winced as he realized he was thinking about it again.

He wrapped his legs around Semi’s waist and forced him closer, groaning as he sank in even deeper.

“ _Fuck_ ,” mumbled Semi, lowering his head to pant against Shirabu’s neck. 

Shirabu rolled his hips up, a silent instruction to continue. Semi caught his breath and started up again. He rocked into Shirabu hard, hitting him just right every other stroke, making him twitch and writhe and hiss.

“You look like… you’re enjoying this,” said Semi between thrusts, his voice touched by wry amusement. “No one would believe… control freak Shirabu… likes getting _fucked_.”

“Stop talking,” snapped Shirabu, bucking his hips into Semi’s thrusts. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Semi, grinding down into him. “I guess if I’m talking it’s harder for you to pretend I’m Ushijima, right?”

Shirabu’s eyes opened into a fierce glare. Before he could think about it, before he could stop himself, he released his grip on the sheets and slapped Semi across the face.

The smack of flesh against flesh was loud in the quiet room, bringing silence except for matched, panting breaths.

Semi stared down at him, wide-eyed, shocked into stillness.

Shirabu held his breath, a swirl of dread in his chest. 

He’d gone too far. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d gone too far.

Semi licked his lips and said, voice raspy, “Do that again.”

Shirabu’s tension ebbed away. He blinked up at Semi, searching, and saw nothing but scalding heat in his dark eyes.

Shirabu slapped him again, his palm buzzing from the impact. Semi closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering inhale.

“ _Fuck_.”

Shirabu pulled back to do it one more time, but Semi seized his wrist and pinned it against the mattress. With a flash of his teeth, Shirabu tried to swing with his other hand, but Semi trapped it, too. With both of his hands held over his head, useless, he stared up into blown-out eyes. Semi’s left cheek burned red, scarlet on ivory.

“Fuck,” Semi said again, the word dripping like warm honey between his lips. 

Shirabu tightened his legs around Semi’s waist and thrust his hips up. “ _Fuck me_.”

Semi squeezed Shirabu’s wrists, pulled back, and slammed back in. His pace was fast and brutal. His hips pistoned forward, his fingers chafed against Shirabu’s wrists, and a string of filthy profanity tumbled from his mouth.

It was different than their usual hate sex. There was a measure of heat there that Shirabu hadn’t felt before, and it made him _burn_. He threw his head back and met Semi’s thrusts, seeking more sensation, even though he was already drowning in it.

Semi dipped his head and sucked on Shirabu’s neck, his teeth scraping against skin. 

Shirabu moaned, fingers twitching uselessly in Semi’s iron grip.

Sweat beaded on Shirabu’s chest and made Semi’s hair stick to his jaw. Each stroke of Semi was hot, like he was being branded from the inside. 

“Dammit,” hissed Shirabu. He yanked his head to the side, pulling away from Semi’s mouth. Semi looked down at him, breath gusting through his parted lips. His hair was a mess, tangled and mussed and pressed wetly against his forehead.

Several fleeting heartbeats passed, and they only looked at each other.

Then Shirabu leaned up and crushed his mouth against Semi’s, forcing him into a kiss that was mostly teeth. Semi leaned into it and rode Shirabu into the mattress as he bit at his lips and tongue.

Semi’s teeth sank into Shirabu’s bottom lip so hard that Shirabu tasted blood. That made something twist in Shirabu’s gut, something hot and primal and desperate. He choked out a cry and came, back arching, dick pulsing. Semi let go of one of his wrists and reached between them, giving Shirabu a few quick strokes that made him shudder.

When he was spent, Shirabu collapsed back against the mattress, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He levered his eyes open to look at Semi, who had suddenly pulled out to sit back on his heels. 

Semi gripped Shirabu’s knee with one hand and stroked himself with the other. His eyes dipped to Shirabu’s chest and followed the curve of his hips. He looked into Shirabu’s face as he came, jaw clenching, a raspy moan dragging out of his throat. He splattered hot and wet on Shirabu’s stomach and their come mixed together in a warm, sticky mess. 

“Fuck,” said Semi. It seemed to be the extent of his vocabulary. He shifted to the side and fell onto his back beside Shirabu, chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath.

He looked completely wrecked. Shirabu smirked.

“Who would’ve thought,” said Shirabu, “that bad boy Semi likes getting slapped around.”

“Shut up,” said Semi, though there was no heat behind the words. 

“We’re not at work,” said Shirabu. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“God, you’re so annoying.”

“I try.”

Semi huffed a few more breaths before pushing himself up. “Mind if I get a quick shower?”

“Whatever,” said Shirabu. He rested a forearm over his eyes. “Bring me a towel or something.”

“I don’t think I will,” said Semi. The bed shifted as he stood. “You deserve to soak in that mess for being such a fucking jerk all the time.”

Shirabu glared at him, but Semi was already stepping into the bathroom and pushing the door closed. Shirabu heard the distinct metallic click of the lock.

He’d locked Shirabu out of his own bathroom.

Shirabu looked down at the dual sprays of come on his torso. It was beginning to cool, turning sticky and viscous.

It was disgusting.

He collapsed back down with a sigh as he heard the shower start up from behind the closed door. Semi always took forever in the shower, too. It would be at least twenty minutes, and by then Shirabu would have to scrub dried come out of his body hair.

He really hated Semi.

The door clicked again, and a damp towel sailed across the room and slapped Shirabu in the face. Semi retreated without a word, and Shirabu sat up with a scowl.

He wiped himself off, lip curling at the mess.

“Disgusting,” he mumbled. 

It was nice of Semi to toss him a towel, he supposed.

But he still hated him. 

  
  
  
  
It was surprisingly easy to work with Semi on a daily basis, even after they’d seen each other in extremely compromising positions. Semi continued to be his overbearing, bossy self, and Shirabu continued to treat him with largely impassive disdain. It was familiar and it worked.

The week passed without incident. Tendou was in a nauseatingly good mood and Shirabu pretended not to know why. It was easy enough until Monday rolled around and Tendou came into the office glowing like the sun. 

“Good morning, Shirabu,” said Tendou brightly, sidling up to him as Shirabu poured his morning coffee. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Shirabu didn’t even look at him. “I guess.”

Tendou draped an arm over Shirabu’s shoulders and leaned into him. “Don’t be so glum, sugarplum.”

“Get off of me,” said Shirabu flatly, “or I’ll break your arm.”

Tendou laughed, the sound too loud in Shirabu’s ear. He was clearly unconcerned. Nevertheless, he released Shirabu and continued on his way.

Shirabu went back to his desk and sat with a huff. He took a drink of coffee that nearly scalded his tongue and tried to focus on his work.

Despite his irritation, everything was fine until about ten o’clock. 

A few minutes before, Oikawa had fluttered through the office like a spring breeze, shutting himself inside Iwaizumi’s office for reasons that Shirabu preferred not to think about.

Still, he would rather be in there with them, seeing it all in person, than have to be at his desk and overhear Ushijima’s rumbling voice from the direction of Tendou’s cubicle.

Shirabu didn’t know when Ushijima had arrived on the seventh floor. After the first couple of weeks at Seijoh Shirabu had stopped hearing the _ding_ of the elevator. He blocked it out, just as he wished he could block out the wavering pitch of Tendou’s laughter.

He gritted his teeth, glared at his computer screen, and tried to focus.

It was in vain.

Rather than thinking about his work, he instead thought about what sort of date Ushijima and Tendou had gone on. Clearly it had gone well. _Very_ well, if Tendou’s mood was any indication.

It made Shirabu sick.

“Hey, Shirabu.”

He whirled toward the door of his cubicle to find Semi, waiting with a binder of papers. “Could you take this down to Sawamura on the third floor?”

“Can’t you do it yourself?” snapped Shirabu. The heat in his voice was excessive for the request, and he knew it.

“I could,” said Semi, not rising to the bait, “but I want you to do it instead. Do you need me to remind you that I’m your boss?”

Shirabu pushed himself out of his chair and snatched the binder out of Semi’s hand. “Fine.” He elbowed his way past Semi and stomped to the elevator, pointedly looking straight ahead as he passed Tendou’s office.

It wasn’t until he was in the elevator, descending, that he wondered if Semi had asked him to run this errand to let him escape from the office for a few minutes.

He doubted it, though. Semi hated Shirabu just as much as Shirabu hated Semi.

  
  
  
  
By the time Friday rolled around again, Shirabu was way past his limit.

He’d managed to hold on to his fleeting tolerance for the entire week, which he felt was impressive. He could’ve probably gone longer, had he not decided to be a nice coworker and help Goshiki wrap up his weekly reports.

His arms were folded on the back of Goshiki’s desk chair as he gave instructions, occasionally pointing at the computer screen to indicate Goshiki’s frequent mistakes. 

“Sorry, sorry,” said Goshiki. He hastened to fix the incorrect line so quickly that he ended up erasing the one above it.

“Take a breath, Tsutomu,” said Shirabu with a weary sigh. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But it is!” said Goshiki, his voice nearly rising to a squeak. “It needs to be perfect! I messed up on last week’s and Semi-senpai said I need to do better. If I don’t he’ll fire me!”

Shirabu sighed again, this time in response to Goshiki’s sheer stupidity.

“He’s not going to fire you. He’s not going to fire anyone, but especially not you.”

“You don’t know that!”

Shirabu pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if this was even worth the argument. 

During the resultant moment of silence, he heard Tendou’s voice clearly through the thin cubicle wall as he accepted a beeping phone call.

“Seijoh Inc., this is Tendou,” he said brightly. 

Shirabu rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, hey, Waka!” said Tendou. “Yep, I’ll be finished up in just a minute. Sure, I’ll meet you in the lobby. Okay, bye!”

If the topic of the overheard conversation hadn’t been enough to set Shirabu off, the gleeful tone of Tendou’s voice would have done the trick.

He gripped the back of Goshiki’s chair so hard that his knuckles ached. 

Shirabu didn’t understand this. It was completely illogical, and it wasn’t _fair_.

“Umm, Shirabu-senpai?” said Goshiki, a little timid. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Shirabu, the words grating through his teeth. “I need to go talk to Semi about something.”

“No, wait! You said you were going to help me finish-”

“It’s fine, Tsutomu,” he snapped as he left the cubicle. “You’re at least halfway competent, which is more than I can say for most of these morons we work with.”

He expertly avoided looking into Tendou’s cubicle, passed by Reon’s, and came to a solid halt in Semi’s doorway.

Semi’s reaction was delayed. He was staring at a spread of paperwork on his desk, brow furrowed in concentration. When he finally looked up at Shirabu he instantly picked up on his scalding mood.

“I have to stay late,” said Semi, his voice low. “My place at eight?”

“Fine,” spat Shirabu, the lack of instant gratification making his temper flare even more. 

He would wait, though. He had to. Burning off his negative energy with Semi was the only successful way he’d found to get his temper in check. 

And if it got too far out of his control, the results would be catastrophic. 

He’d lost more than one job over an uncontrollable burst of temper. He couldn’t afford to lose this one, too. 

  
  
  
  
Shirabu had lost count of how many times he’d been at Semi’s apartment. The first time he’d been a little anxious. Not because of what he was about to do – at that point they’d hooked up a couple of times already – but because he was afraid that doing it at Semi’s place would make it too personal. 

It turned out that the location didn’t matter. Shirabu had been fucked with the same muted aggression as usual, and he’d felt nothing different about Semi as a result. Since then he’d been immune to nervousness in general where his and Semi’s extracurricular activities were concerned.

So it was strange, when he pushed his way through the unlocked apartment door, that he felt a tingle of something reminiscent of anxiety.

It dissipated quickly enough, though, when he flung the door shut behind him, haphazardly kicked off his shoes, and seated himself directly into Semi’s lap on the leather couch.

His knees were on either side of Semi’s thighs as he straddled him, his hands balling into fists in the front of Semi’s shirt. 

“Don’t worry about the intrusion,” said Semi with a dose of sarcasm that made Shirabu scowl. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Shirabu didn’t bother telling him to shut up. He yanked at Semi’s shirt and pushed their mouths together. The taste of Semi’s sarcasm was surprisingly sweet on his lips. 

Semi was still dressed in his work clothes. Shirabu yanked at his tie impatiently, the silk sliding between his fingers. When he’d worked it loose he pulled back just long enough to slip it over Semi’s head and toss it over the back of the couch before he was on him again. 

He’d grown familiar with Semi over the past couple of years, as loathe as he was to admit it. He knew just the right way to tug at his lip, and lick into his mouth, and swivel his hips down into Semi’s lap. 

Semi moaned, the sound echoing inside of Shirabu’s mouth. His hands squeezed around Shirabu’s waist, coaxing him down as Semi bucked up against him.

“I hate waiting,” growled Shirabu as he started on the buttons of Semi’s shirt. “You could’ve just fucked me in the office bathroom or something, _fuck_.”

“I’d rather not get fired for sexual misconduct,” said Semi, pulling at the hem of Shirabu’s shirt.

Shirabu sat back, ripped his own shirt over his head, and threw it over his shoulder. He finished unhooking the buttons of Semi’s dress shirt and pushed it back, baring Semi’s shoulders.

“Take your clothes off,” said Shirabu. He backed off of Semi’s lap and stood, pushing his own sweatpants down to puddle on the ground at his feet. He stepped out of them, barely noticing the way Semi raised a brow at Shirabu’s lack of underwear. It wasn’t as if he’d needed them. They would have been taken off five minutes after his arrival anyway.

Semi followed his example and rose, shedding his shirt and working at his belt. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” said Semi. “I-”

“Shut up,” said Shirabu. He slapped Semi’s hands away and unzipped his pants himself. “I told you I fucking hate waiting.” He shucked Semi’s pants and underwear down in one fell swoop and shoved him back onto the couch. Semi landed with a huff, scowling up at him. 

“You’re a dick,” said Semi flatly.

“Whatever.”

“You’ll have to get the lube out of the-”

“I brought my own,” said Shirabu, kneeling to dig into the pocket of his sweatpants. “I’m not using that cheap shit you keep buying.”

“Well I’m not paying 4,000 yen for a bottle of lube. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m willing to pay the price for something that’s going _in my ass_ ,” snapped Shirabu. “Next time you get fucked make sure to use the cheap shit. Let me know how that feels.”

“You’re so fucking needy,” said Semi as Shirabu climbed back on top of him.

“That doesn’t mean much, coming from you. You whine all the damn time.” He seized Semi’s jaw, tilted his head back, and swiped his tongue across Semi’s bottom lip. “Finger me while I suck your dick.”

Semi wrenched away from Shirabu’s grip and blinked up at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Shirabu shifted to the side and pushed Semi down onto his back. He straddled him in reverse, his thighs caging either side of Semi’s shoulders, his mouth hovering several centimeters above Semi’s dick. Shirabu reached back to press the lube into Semi’s hand. 

“Why?” said Semi.

“Are you complaining?”

“No, but you don’t even like giving head,” said Semi. One of his hands was clenched around Shirabu’s thigh. The other was fisted around the lube. “You’re too selfish.”

“Oh my _god_ , can you shut up for _five minutes_ ,” griped Shirabu. 

Semi started to say something else. Shirabu ducked his head, wrapped his lips around the head of Semi’s dick, and sucked hard. Semi’s hips rose automatically and Shirabu planted his hands on Semi’s thighs to hold him down.

“ _Fuck_ , Shirabu. A little warning would be nice.”

Shirabu responded only by swiping his tongue over Semi’s tip.

Semi made a choked sound, mumbled something that was probably rude, and then a moment later prodded at Shirabu’s entrance with a lube-slick finger.

Shirabu closed his eyes and relaxed into it, bobbing his head further down Semi’s length, laving it with his tongue.

It was true that Shirabu wasn’t fond of giving blowjobs. Semi’s reasoning hadn’t even been wrong. He didn’t see the point of sucking someone off if they weren’t doing the same for him. Sex was a give and take, and Shirabu preferred to mostly take.

But this time, feeling Semi’s muscles tense beneath his fingers and hearing the sounds that curled in Semi’s throat, Shirabu didn’t mind so much.

It didn’t take long before Semi was two fingers deep, and then three. He pumped them in and out of Shirabu in time with the rise and fall of Shirabu’s head.

Shirabu pulled off with a pop and looked at Semi over his shoulder. “Alright, that’s good.”

Semi withdrew his fingers and Shirabu maneuvered back around to face Semi, straddling his hips instead. 

Semi frowned at his fingers, still slick with lube. Shirabu reached off of the couch, grabbed Semi’s shirt, and used it to wipe off his fingers before he could protest. 

“You little shit,” said Semi. The insult was weakened by the touch of breathlessness in his voice.

Shirabu rolled his eyes, pressed his hips back, and slowly sank onto Semi.

“Ah, _fuck_.” Semi grabbed Shirabu’s ass and squeezed, coaxing him down a little faster. “I know I opened you up good. You don’t have to go so slow.”

“You made me wait for _three hours_ ,” said Shirabu. He stopped completely, Semi only half-buried inside of him. “Do you know how frustrated I am? I almost punched a teenager for walking into me on the way over here.”

“Not my fault,” said Semi. “I recommended anger management.”

Shirabu stared down at him. Then he slowly started raising his hips, letting Semi fall out of him.

“Are you trying to _punish me_?” said Semi. “You’re the one who wants it so bad.”

“And you don’t?”

“If I didn’t I wouldn’t have invited you over,” snapped Semi. “Will you just let me fuck you already?”

“Who’s needy now?”

“You _brat_.”

Shirabu braced his hands against Semi’s chest and sat back. Semi’s dick sank inside him and they both groaned. 

“Fuck.” Semi gripped Shirabu’s hips, so tightly it was almost painful. 

Shirabu wanted to continue making snide comments, but he wanted to get fucked even more. He gripped the back of the couch with one hand, the other still pressed against Semi’s chest, and grinded down. 

He was full of Semi, the stiff heat burning inside him in a way he’d anticipated for hours. He shifted up onto his knees and started riding Semi with deep, hard rolls of his hips. Semi dug his heels into the couch and thrust up to meet him, heightening the impact and the sensation.

Shirabu moaned, in a way that had embarrassed him the first few times they’d fucked. Now he no longer cared. Semi knew what he looked like, and how he sounded, and how he fucked. Semi knew more about him than Shirabu cared to acknowledge, yet their arrangement still worked.

“Come here,” said Semi. He curled a hand around the back of Shirabu’s neck and pulled him into a crushing kiss. While his teeth chewed at Shirabu’s bottom lip, Semi wrapped an arm around Shirabu’s waist and thrust into him hard, sucking the gasp straight out of Shirabu’s mouth.

He kept up the pace, hammering into Shirabu, sucking on his lips and his tongue. Shirabu buried his fingers in Semi’s hair and pulled, until Semi threw his head back and moaned. Shirabu licked a stripe from his collarbone, up his throat, and along his jawline, stopping only when he’d reached his ear. 

“Fuck me harder,” he whispered, the words low and rough. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

He felt Semi’s dick twitch inside him.

Before Shirabu could brace himself he was flipped onto his back and Semi’s weight bore down on him. Semi pounded into him with abandon, the slide increased by their mutual sweat. Shirabu grabbed onto Semi’s back and felt muscles shifting beneath his fingers. He crunched up, pressed a fleeting kiss against Semi’s skin, and then sank his teeth into Semi’s shoulder.

Semi made a sound that was more snarl than moan. He gripped Shirabu’s hip with enough strength to bruise and slammed into him so hard that Shirabu knew he would still feel it tomorrow.

Shirabu reached down and wrapped a hand around his own length, pumping quickly as he heard Semi’s breath stutter. 

They came within a moment of each another. Shirabu felt Semi spill inside him, but was too caught up in his own orgasm to complain. He moaned as he came, hot jets spurting across his stomach, all of the week’s tension ebbing away in that single instant.

“Fuck,” said Shirabu, his head thumping back against the couch. 

“Yeah,” said Semi. He was still suspended over Shirabu, panting hot breaths against Shirabu’s face. “Fuck.”

“You’re still inside me.”

“When I pull out it’s going to make a mess.”

“Good thing the couch is leather then.”

Semi scowled down at him, but the cut of his brows wasn’t as sharp as usual. There was something almost soft about the expression. His dark eyes lingered on Shirabu’s, dropped down to his lips, and then cut away. 

He pulled out carefully but Shirabu felt come drizzle out of himself all the same.

“I’m taking a shower,” said Shirabu. He swung his legs off of the couch and stood while Semi still frowned at the sticky puddle on the leather cushion. Come dripped down the inside of Shirabu’s thigh and he tried to ignore it. 

“That’s fine,” said Semi vaguely. 

Shirabu had expected him to argue. He waited a moment, to make sure the protest wasn’t just delayed, and then made his way to Semi’s bathroom.

The setup was familiar. He grabbed a towel off of the shelf before stepping behind the opaque glass. He cranked the water so hot that it burned, but it was just the way Shirabu liked it. 

When he felt that he was thoroughly clean, inside and out, he cut off the spray and toweled himself dry. He used Semi’s hair dryer to get most of the moisture out of his hair before it could begin to curl. Then he discarded his towel on the floor and padded back out into the living room to retrieve his clothes. They were still on the floor where they’d been left, and Semi was still on the couch where he’d been left.

The mess had been cleaned up, but Semi hadn’t bothered dressing. He reclined against the arm of the couch, completely nude, his cell phone in hand.

Shirabu pointedly looked away from him as he picked up his clothes and pulled them on. He checked the time. It was creeping close to nine o’clock, which didn’t explain why he was so damn exhausted. 

“You look tired,” said Semi, as if reading his mind.

Shirabu glanced at him. Semi’s eyes were still on the screen of his phone. 

“Just stay,” said Semi. “Get some rest and go home in the morning.”

He extended the offer casually, as if it was a common gesture.

Shirabu just stared at him. They’d fucked more times than he could count, but they’d never spent a night together.

Semi sensed the attention and looked up. “What?”

“Why would I stay?”

“Why not?” Semi shrugged. “It’s not like we have work tomorrow. It’s already kind of late. Taking the bus back home would just be a hassle.”

“What’s the catch?”

Semi scowled at him. “There is no catch. I’m just trying to be nice. Fuck off and leave if you want. I couldn’t care less.”

Semi’s irritation made Shirabu relax a little. He supposed it wouldn’t be all that bad to stay until morning. They’d just be sleeping, anyway. After fucking on Semi’s couch, sleeping in the same apartment wasn’t exactly risqué.

“Fine,” said Shirabu. He sank onto the opposite end of the couch and pulled his feet up beneath him.

Semi just nodded. “I’m ordering takeout. What do you want?”

“Something with lobster in it.”

“You’re full of shit. I’m not buying lobster.”

“You’re a stingy bastard. I’m your guest. You’re supposed to treat me well.”

“So fucking you into a moaning mess wasn’t treating you well?”

They bickered for half an hour before they came to a decision on food and argued about inconsequential subjects until it arrived. The conversation turned relatively civil as they ate, and by the time they went to bed, both of them were too tired to quarrel.

“Don’t wake me up before eight,” mumbled Shirabu, pressing his face into his borrowed pillow. It was a spare, but somehow it still smelled like Semi. The scent wasn’t completely unpleasant. 

“Whatever. If you snore I’m kicking you out.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“You’re an ass. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Shirabu expected the circumstances to be at least a little uncomfortable. Contrary to that belief, he slept like a stone and knew nothing else until he woke the next morning.

Then he had a whole new set of issues to worry about.

  
  
  
  
On Monday morning Ushijima came down to visit Tendou, which wasn’t unusual.

What was unusual was that Shirabu couldn’t work up the energy to be vindictively jealous.

He still felt that Ushijima could do better, and thinking about the two of them together was disgusting, but that was all. He preferred not to think about it, but even if his mind wandered in that direction, the burning ball of hatred lodged in his chest didn’t suddenly burst into flame.

It was strange, going through the morning without being angry. He almost missed it. 

Shirabu concluded that the Friday night spent at Semi’s apartment – and the more questionable morning after – must have been enough stress relief to keep him calm even days later. That was the only reasonable explanation. As the week wore on he would probably be reintroduced to that burning bitterness that he’d battled over the past two weeks. 

He went to lunch with Goshiki, who pandered on about a compliment Iwaizumi had given him that morning. Shirabu half-listened and even tried to pretend that he cared.

When they got back to the office Shirabu found a note on his desk, printed in Semi’s meticulous handwriting.

_Come see me in my office_. 

Shirabu couldn’t tell just from the note whether the requested meeting was good or bad. It wasn’t until he stepped into Semi’s cubicle and saw the scalding scowl on his face that he settled on _bad_.

“Sit,” said Semi, the single word clipped.

Shirabu did as he was told and dropped into the spare seat. 

At any given time, Semi looked as if he was at least mildly annoyed. It was just his resting expression. Shirabu was used to it.

This, however, was beyond mild annoyance. This was fury.

Shirabu didn’t even make a snide comment. He tried to think of the last time he’d seen Semi so angry and failed.

“Do you recall those financial reports,” said Semi, the words burning, “from a few weeks ago?”

It took only a second for Shirabu to realize where this was going. A jolt of dread pulsed in his chest. “Yes.”

“You told me,” said Semi slowly, “that Iwaizumi approved the altered format.” 

Shirabu said nothing.

Semi seized a sheaf of papers off of his desk and threw them onto the ground at Shirabu’s feet. “He just sent your report back,” said Semi through gritted teeth, “and said he can’t accept it because the format is wrong.”

Shirabu looked down at the crumpled papers. At the time he’d thought it would be funny to make Semi look like an idiot.

Now he was rethinking that a little.

“You said you talked to him,” Semi repeated. “When I asked, he said he didn’t know anything about it. Do you know how _stupid_ I looked?”

“No more than usual.” The words slipped out before Shirabu could bite them back. 

Semi slapped a hand against his desk and stood, glaring down at Shirabu. “I don’t care if you respect me or not,” he said, too loudly, “but I’m still your boss.”

Shirabu rose to meet him. He didn’t like being physically talked down to. The fact that Semi was a little taller was bad enough. “After I told you that, you said you were going to talk to Iwaizumi about it. I thought you would do that before you actually submitted the report.”

“Why would I do that when you said it was already approved?”

“Because you never trust me!”

“But I _did_ trust you!” said Semi. At this point he was almost yelling. The rest of the office seemed eerily quiet. “And look where that got me.”

“Semi-san, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

Semi took a step closer. His scowl was so sharp that Shirabu felt it was cutting straight through him.

“It’s a big deal,” snarled Semi, “because _I’m your boss_. I can’t make you respect me. I don’t _care_ if you respect me. But you are going to do what I say, because I’m in charge. This is _not_ going to happen again. Understood?”

Shirabu’s breath caught. The pulsing dread that he’d felt was gone. In its place was a buzzing, scalding heat that burned in his chest, to the tips of his fingers, and along his spine. His brain was a garbled remix of white noise, thrumming along to the beat of his too-fast heart.

He didn’t understand what was happening until he felt heat pool in his groin and realized he was hard.

This wasn’t the same as their quick hook-ups, which were solely for the sake of venting their frustrations. This wasn’t the same feeling as being brought to an angry orgasm for the relief of release.

This wasn’t convenience. In that sudden, scalding moment, Shirabu wanted Semi. Not as a means to deal with his anger and not for a quick fuck.

He wanted him just because he wanted him, and he wanted him _badly_.

Shirabu’s face was hot. He turned away and fled the cubicle, Semi’s shouts following him out. 

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished! Shirabu!”

Shirabu didn’t look back, didn’t slow. He needed some distance. He needed a minute to think about what the hell was wrong with him.

Surely he was mistaken. Surely he didn’t actually want _Semi_ , of all people.

He just needed a minute to breathe, a minute to come to his senses.

He burst through the bathroom door and braced his hands against the sink, counting his breaths in an effort to calm himself down. He was still painfully hard for no reason, the heat clouding his mind and making it more difficult to think.

The only clear thought in his head was an image of Semi with his brows cut into an angry scowl, eyes so dark that they could swallow Shirabu whole.

His dick throbbed, and Shirabu realized he must just hate himself.

The bathroom door slammed open and Shirabu could have screamed in frustration.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” snapped Semi, his composure devolving even more now that there was no one to overhear. “You know you fucked up. You can at least take accountability for it.”

Shirabu huffed a laugh, which surprised both of them. “I definitely fucked up,” he said. He wasn’t talking about the report. 

He stood out of his slump, arms falling to his sides. When he looked at Semi the heat within him only burned more hotly.

Shirabu didn’t know when this had happened. Maybe it was when he’d woken up in Semi’s arms on Saturday morning, which had been a shock to both of them. Maybe it had been in the midst of the unscripted morning sex that shouldn’t have happened.

Maybe it was while Semi was tearing into him for his mistake, his voice belying an aggression that Shirabu had helped resolve on multiple occasions. Whenever it was, whatever the cause, Shirabu knew he was doomed.

“What’s your problem?” said Semi. The anger in his voice had faded. He looked almost concerned, and that made Shirabu’s heart skip even as his dick twitched.

“Fuck,” said Shirabu, speaking to himself. “This is just fucking fantastic.”

Before Semi could respond, Shirabu stepped forward and shoved him against the wall. Semi’s back slammed into the sheetrock and Shirabu bunched his fingers in the front of Semi’s shirt. 

Semi pushed at him but Shirabu didn’t move. “What the fuck are you-”

The words were stolen by the press of Shirabu’s mouth. He exhaled a hot breath and traced Semi’s lower lip with his tongue. 

Semi went rigid, hardening into solid stone. Shirabu pulled back just enough to look at him. 

“What are you doing?” said Semi, the question hemmed with shock.

“I think…” The words were like acid on Shirabu’s tongue. “I think maybe I don’t hate you as much as I thought.”

Semi looked lost.

“I’m sorry about the report.” Shirabu said it quickly. He didn’t apologize often and he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. “It was a joke. I didn’t mean to actually cause a problem.”

Semi’s face went a little slack. He looked exactly the same as he had the time that Shirabu had slapped him.

He moved, wrenching away from Shirabu’s grip, switching their positions to pin Shirabu against the wall. Then he was kissing him, mouth moving with firm insistence, his tongue hot as it slipped into Shirabu’s mouth.

It wasn’t gentle or romantic. There was a press of teeth, a too-tight grip around Shirabu’s bicep. It was a little rough, and a little sharp, and a whole lot like the two of them.

Semi pressed a leg between Shirabu’s thighs and he almost melted at the relief of sensation. He pressed into it and ground against Semi’s leg with a gasp that was licked away by Semi’s tongue.

Then the door swung open and Semi sprang back, staggering over himself as he rushed to put distance between them.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa entered, taking in the pair with matched expressions of polite interest. They shared a look, and Matsukawa said, “Sorry, but we have reservations here for one-thirty every Monday. If you can’t wait then find a different room. If you ask nicely Iwaizumi might let you fuck in his office.”

“It’s probably best not to ask,” said Hanamaki. “Just do it when he’s not around. We won’t tell.”

“He keeps lube in the top drawer,” said Matsukawa helpfully. “For emergencies.”

“We’re not doing anything,” said Semi. The brilliant flush across his cheeks did not lend any credibility to the statement. “We were just having a conversation.”

“Sure,” said Hanamaki. “Well if you wouldn’t mind, Mattsun and I need to have a conversation, too.”

Mattsun nodded. “It’s going to be about a twenty minute conversation. If you’d like to come back after that and have a conversation of your own, we won’t stop you.”

“That’s not what’s happening,” said Semi. “We weren’t-”

“Shut up,” mumbled Shirabu. He grabbed Semi’s wrist and yanked him toward the door. He glanced back at Matsukawa and Hanamaki before they exited. “Your discretion would be appreciated.”

“No worries,” said Hanamaki, tossing him a faux salute.

“We’re great at secrets,” said Matsukawa, his tone serious.

Shirabu wouldn’t have trusted the pair of them with a hundred yen, much less with a secret that could endanger his and Semi’s jobs. Still, there wasn’t much choice.

He dragged Semi out of the bathroom and paused just outside the door, trying to discreetly adjust himself in his pants.

“That was awkward,” said Shirabu mildly.

Semi gaped at him. “Awkward?” he repeated. “It was _awkward_?”

“Their relationship isn’t common knowledge either,” said Shirabu. “I don’t think they’ll tell.”

He was trying to convince himself just as much as Semi.

“Even if they do,” continued Shirabu, “they can’t prove anything. Everyone thinks we hate each other. Saying otherwise isn’t believable.”

“But we do hate each other,” said Semi. His certainty faltered a little and he added, “Right?”

Shirabu frowned. “I’m not sure.”

“Great,” said Semi. He was scowling again, but it was his normal scowl, not the one he’d worn in his office a few minutes before.

Shirabu hadn’t intended to sidetrack Semi from the lecture, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“What are we supposed to do now?” said Semi.

A questionable groan filtered through the bathroom door. Both of them pretended they didn’t hear.

“Come over after work,” said Shirabu. “We’ll talk about it, or something.”

Semi vaguely nodded. “Let’s get dinner first.”

Shirabu’s heart gave a little flip and he hated himself for it. “Only if you’re buying.”

“You’re so damn ungrateful.”

“I’ll be very grateful,” said Shirabu, “after you buy me dinner.”

“You little shit,” said Semi. It was clearly an insult, but his voice was oddly soft. “Pick what restaurant you want. We can go wherever.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Semi shifted his weight from foot to foot, his brow furrowing more deeply. His voice dropped lower as he said, “And now I’m fucking hard. Thanks a lot, asshole.”

He stalked away, a definite hitch in his gait. Shirabu couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

He stopped immediately, though, and hid his face in his hands.

“Fuck,” he said to himself, the word a fair summation of the entire situation.

From beyond the bathroom door a raised voice echoed the same sentiment, in a decidedly different tone.

Shirabu shook his head and slowly returned to his cubicle.

This entire company was fucking ridiculous.

Shirabu couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.


End file.
